


There's a Storm

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Series: Stolen Moments in Time [6]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Implied Drug Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, implied alcohol abuse, jeffershit being himself, nathan being too hard on himself tbh, nathan centric, no caulscott sadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can't recall anything at all.</p><p>Not what happened. What I did. What she did. What he did. None of that. Any of that. It's all blank in my mind. </p><p>I can remember, though,  the pain and the desolating emotion that I had lost something that night. Something that I'd never be able to get back</p><p>(Nathan centric-fic. Cue lots of tears)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Storm

You stare at the long red gashes marring the pale skin of your arms. Rivulets of blood descend, dripping on the floor. _Drip. Drip._ The sound drives you crazy. Makes you want to bury your nails, your whole fingers in the bleeding gaps and rip, and open, and destroy until you can finally see the white bone beneath.

You feel particularly self destructive today.

Empty eyes find yours in the mirror and it’s terrifying. That you can’t recognize the face of the stranger looking back at you.

The door is locked. You had half a mind to leave it open but you’re not that stupid nor that gone yet. You know you can’t risk being found out. And surprisingly there’s not one soul around, then again its three o’clock in the morning. Too late to be wandering in the dorm halls. Too late to be mutilating yourself in the school’s bathroom. You have never been good with rules, anyway.

You don’t own a proper knife; instead you use a box cutter. Watch it disturb the perfect harmony of fake perfection. Your hand trembles a bit, and you know it must be from withdrawal. Stopping taking excessive amounts of alcohol and drugs has taken a toll on your motor coordination. You’re twice as jumpy as you’d normally be; more paranoid if that’s even possible. You’re less hungry, in fact, you’re appetite has been decreasing for a while now. You pay it no heed.

Body trembling. Eyebags covering most of your cheekbones. Pale as the dead. You look like crap. There’s an annoying drumming in the back of your head and in your ears you can hear the echo of a voice. Of a name. A name that you don’t dare to analyze because if you do you’ll throw up, you’ll do anything to get it out of your mind, your throat, your head.

Cutting deeper, you need to feel the pain. The thing is, you don’t.

You’re numb, paralyzed, frozen. And there must be something wrong with you, you think. No normal person would be this immune to feeling. You start to consider the idea that perhaps, you’re not normal. Perhaps you’re already dead.

Wouldn’t that be the best thing that has ever happened to you?

If only faith was ever that generous.

It’s been exactly a week since the last time you saw her. A week without her overwhelming presence at Blackwell Academy. A week without her brilliant laugh, intelligence and well, just her. Her being there was enough to lighten up the entire goddamned place.

Not that you were in love with her or anything but there was no denying, she was plainly put: admirable. Radiance incarnated. One of the few friendships you truly appreciated. She had been a true friend…

Red fills your vision and you snap.

Why are you even using past tense?

She is alive.

She has to be alive and well.

She’s probably in California, making it big. Like everything she does.

Yet… there’s something that feels wrong. Out of place. You can’t put your finger on it but you know.

Yet you don’t know. Not really.

Your memories are hazy, fuzzy, a big fucking mess just as fucked as the rest of you. You remember partying in the Vortex Club and the almond haired girl had been there. She had smiled at you with that award winning grin. And then nothing. You can’t remember anything else about the events of that forsaken night. You do remember waking up in your dorm room, high as a kite, freezing to death, skin crawling because you felt all kinds of wrong (dirty) and when you tried to get up a white hot pain coming from your lower back…

You do remember the traces of dried cum and blood on your thighs and you couldn’t think about anything else other than buying a fucking rocket launcher and shooting straight at the motherfucker till’ his ashes were the only leftovers. Or using a chainsaw to cut the fucker right down the middle.

You do remember pretending to be sick in favor of staying all day holed up under the sheets, antagonizing yourself, your dad and the asshole that shall not be named. Glaring blankly at walls and hoping the whole world would just burn down.

You do remember touching the small puncture on your neck and wishing for justice. After your guilt party, it occurred to you to think about the girl who had been with you. The girl who you would never see again.

You didn’t know that either. You were as perplexed as everybody else at her absence, the weight of it. How the happy mood was swallowed up by a giant invisible vacuum, leaving bewilderment and confusion in its place. And you knew then, the same way that you know now, that something really bad, dark must have happened that day.

You don’t want to believe it because it’s.. It’s Rachel whom you’re thinking about and the slightest idea of her being… No, you can’t think about it. Not yet.

In the worst case scenario, if she’s in fact, not okay…

Then you have no clue of what you’d do.

You can’t bear to think of another innocent getting hurt because of you.

So you don’t think at all.

You watch the sick red. The stranger’s face in the mirror: with the narrowed crazed blue eyes, the hollowed cheeks and the sharp like glass cheekbones. You revel in the lightheadedness.

And you don’t think.

There’s a storm in your eyes too. A massive tornado wiping out all that’s bad, ugly and not meant for this world. There’s a storm in your heart.

 


End file.
